Winternest
by ctrl alt defeat
Summary: What should have been a serious accident turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He just doesn't realize it yet. /Eventual RobBry.
1. Chapter One

Title: Winternest, Chapter One.

Summary: What should have been a serious accident turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He just doesn't realize it yet.

Warnings: Honestly, if you don't see where this headed then I'll be forced to attack you with a mackerel. Eventual shounen-ai. Don't like, then kindly don't read it. Thank you! And other standard warnings apply; a bit of pain here, some nonsense there and probably sneezing, too.

Disclaimer: Do you really think I own Beyblade? Surely you jest! Admittedly, I do in my fondest dreams. But we won't venture off there...

Authoress notes: First story, eep. Not truly expecting a lot to come out of this, but I'm determined to finish it anyway, if only to amuse myself and prevent a certain someone locking me up in a dungeon somewhere for wimping out. XD Not much else to say about it, so I'll be shutting up now. Oh, and reviews are nice, but I won't demand them. :)

On with the show!

* * *

Stormy grey clouds littered the previously blue sky, blocking out the sun and darkening what little light there was to begin with. Not surprisingly, a heavy sheet of rain accompanied the ever darkening clouds, drenching anyone or anything unlucky enough to be caught in the dreaded weather. It had been snowing earlier, though that wasn't evident now, the rain clearing the streets and pathways of the fluffy, white substance. Compared to the rain, the snow was tolerable. And much more welcome than the sudden downpour.

Robert muttered under his breath about having the worst luck, drawing his arms and coat around himself tighter in an attempt to keep himself warm. No such luck. He cursed again, this time wishing all the known evils on the tanned, wool-lined jacket for not providing enough warmth or being water resistant. Vowing to take a pair of scissors to it before tossing it away, he hurried along the deserted street.

The small town had become desolate once the torrent of rain decided to present itself. The streets were deserted, the stores all locked up; there were no vehicles, not a soul out and about. Not even the stray animals he had seen were dumb enough to venture out into the blasphemous weather. No one was that dumb.

No one, of course, except himself.

At the sight of a clear, blue sky, Robert had deemed it worthy enough to leave his confines and stroll around for a while. Being cooped up in a small motel room wasn't exactly healthy, and he needed to become familiar with the layout of the town. It was meant to be a perfect, quiet day for him. And it was.

… That is, until the clear sky disappeared and gave way to foreboding darkness. To make matters worse, he subsequently forgot his way back to the motel. And that was when things had turned sour. Apart from the whole 'saturated' part, he had also become acquainted with the cement pathway, having slipped in an inconvenient puddle which left a rather annoying stain on his good pants.

His courtly manners momentarily forgotten, he cursed himself. He had come to this place to get away from his problems, not encounter more of them.

The streetlights flickered, threatening to go out at any moment. It did little to light the pathway, which had become eerily dark all of a sudden, the lack of natural light not helping the situation. The rain continued to pour down, unrelenting and before long the drains and the very streets themselves would become flooded.

Coming to a crossroads, Robert paused. He pushed his soaking hair out of his eyes and tried to read the signs that indicated which street were which, but to no avail. He looked left, and then right. The streetlights continued to flicker while he debated which direction to head in.

Sighing, he chose to ignore the signs and continued heading north, or what he thought was north. Out of habit, he checked both ways again just to make sure there was no traffic. A low, cynical laugh escaped his throat as he realized how idiotic the gesture was.

No one was blockheaded enough to come out here, vehicle or no, he reminded himself.

Hesitating, Robert took a step onto the flooded street. It wasn't until he was about half way across the slippery road when a loud, indignant screeching noise resonated throughout the air. It caused Robert to pause and sharply turn in the direction of the sound.

It had all happened so fast, the horror never got a chance to register in his mind. He stood, dumbly, eyes locked on the speeding vehicle heading in his direction, the bright headlights blinding him, paralyzing him. The car screeched again, the brakes this time, as it spun out of control. The brakes did little to slow the car, or prevent it from following its deadly path, much to the dismay of the driver.

He couldn't think. He couldn't react. He just stood there, the rain stinging his face to the point of numbness. Whether frozen from panic, fear or just the sheer cold, it made no difference. His fate had been decided, in the form of a speeding, out of control car.

_I'm sorry_, was Robert's last coherent thought before everything went black.

… A silhouette…

No.

It was a veil…

A veil of white clouded the small confines of what appeared to be a tiny room. Something around the room buzzed lowly, though where it was coming from was indistinguishable. The room was empty. There was nothing; no furniture, no life, and certainly nothing that should be emitting such an annoying noise.

A light, brighter than that of the white walls, suddenly engulfed the room. But this was no ordinary light; it was painful. It burnt. It singed every inch of the enclosure. The noise ceased, giving way to the unbearable heat that seemed to drag him down, down into the snowy depths, consuming, eating away at him…

Robert sat up in a rush, only to have the familiar, burning sensation shoot through his left leg. Groaning in agony, he let his body fall back onto the bed he was currently occupying.

… _Bed?!_

Looking around in alarm, he realized with a start there wasn't much to look at. He was in a room, that much he knew. Apart from the bed, the only other furniture set up was a dusty, old bedside table which held nothing of particular interest. The curtains were drawn tightly across the window, successfully keeping out the sun, whether it was daytime or not. Paint peeled off the walls in random places, just begging for another coat of the gross, cream coloured substance. A musty scent hung noticeably in the air though, where it came from, he deigned to know.

The room fell nicely into the category of 'run down shack'. And even then, that was too good a title for it.

Robert opened his mouth to call for help, but decided it was pointless. He hardly had the strength to lift his head, let alone start howling like a werewolf. So he sat, patiently, mulling over the thoughts that were swimming in his head. Most of them kept reminding him of the pain he was in, but he politely shut them away.

He wondered briefly how he came to be in this shabby, old room. That was the one question that irked him; he certainly didn't remember passing out here, and he certainly didn't remember his motel room looking like this.

Frowning, he shook his head clear. The more he thought about it, the more chance he had of getting a headache.

The room was eerily quiet, a notion that made him even more uncomfortable. He removed his hands from under the covers where they had been, happily enveloped in warmth (and not the painful, burning kind) and eyed them curiously. There were no marks, nothing out of the ordinary,

… Except for the red cuffs of the berry wine coloured blouse he was currently wearing. Frowning again, he realized with a start that his entire attire had been changed. No longer was he wearing the cursed jacket and its lack of warmth, nor was he wearing the nice pants he had so carelessly fallen over him, both of which were soaked through ten times over.

_Soaked…? Yes, that's right. It was raining last night wasn't it?_

Unnerved, and more than a little bit confused, he tried to divert his attention to something else, something less… _unnerving_. But the questions were nagging at him, prodding at his thoughts and unfortunately, there was nothing in the boring room he could give his full and undivided attention to. He frowned, yet again; when it occurred to him someone would have gone to some trouble to actually change his clothes.

"Oh, my," He muttered, turning his dark, crimson gaze to the bedside table. He was hoping there would be some sort of clue as to who his host was, but remembered the table was baron, and shifted his eyes back to the covers. They were red, as well.

Robert winced as he shifted his position, trying in vain to get more comfortable. The movement only reminded him of the hot, white pain he had felt earlier but somehow the pain seemed magnified now that he was aware of it. That depressed him somewhat. It was one problem to be stuck in a rundown hotel room with not even so much as a newspaper to keep him company, but it was another to be in barely bearable pain, with a temporary case of amnesia of the previous night's occurrences to throw into the mix, with _no damned pain killers_.

If anyone ever accused him of being moody over a few pain killers, Robert would steadfastly deny it.

Before he could drown in self-pity, a noise that sounded suspiciously like scuffling feet alerted him to another presence. Yes, he was sure of it. Something else, something _alive_, was in the house. He contemplated calling out again, but found there was no need.

The doorknob to this particular room turned noisily, and the door was suddenly shoved open. In sauntered a rather smug looking stranger, who promptly folded his arms across his chest, leaning his weight against the door frame.

No – not a stranger at all.

"Well, well," the not-so stranger said, smug smile still plastered on his face. "How is his lordling feeling? I thought you were a goner for sure. Ironic that the sorry sod I happened to plow down turned out to be you, of all people."

The irony was lost on Robert, but the shock of who stood before him wasn't. That silver-grey mane was unmistakable, the superior grin he wore, indistinguishable. And the hollow depths of his eyes… incomparable. No one had eyes like him, _no one_.

Robert continued to stare at the young man in shock, mouth agape, finding it difficult to form a coherent sentence. Of all the people it could have been and of all the people it could not have been… The man who stood before him wasn't even a contender on either list.

"_Bryan Kuznetsov?!_"


	2. Chapter Two

Authoress notes: Wow. Just... wow. I honestly didn't expect to get a single review, but I guess that's just my negativity speaking. Thank you!! I am going to try my darndest' not to disappoint anyone. I was planning on waiting to post this, but why bother? It'll just be pro-longing the inevitable. I'll try to keep updates as frequent as possible too, but I won't make any promises.

I really hope that whoever is (if anyone _actually_ is) reading enjoys it! I apologize for any out-of-characterness, too. All right, shutting up now!

Disclaimer: Same as always, don't own.

Now, on with the show!

* * *

If he stared open-mouthed any longer, Robert was sure his features would freeze and he'd be stuck like that forever. But even forever wasn't long enough to get over his initial shock. The cause of his surprise arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by the noble's reaction.

"What… What are _you_ looking at?" Robert demanded, frustrated that the Russian was enjoying himself at his expense.

The man in question merely shrugged, taking a couple of steps into the room. There wasn't much light, but there was enough to reveal he was still wearing that same smug, superior smile. Robert was tempted to take a rag to his face in an attempt to wipe the smirk away, see if he had anything to smile about then.

"Just relishing this moment. It's not everyday I get to catch the Great and Holy Robert Jurgen off guard, you know."

_Great and Holy_? Bryan was mocking him, Robert was sure of it. Narrowing his eyes, he looked past his captor and at the open door. It looked so inviting and, right now, he'd like nothing more than to escape the Russian's company, get away from that know-it-all smirk…

But Robert was, temporarily and inconveniently, disabled. He would have to endure the man's intolerable presence until he was well enough to risk a daring escape. Or until Bryan got bored and decided to abandon him in a back alley somewhere, probably in the seedier parts of town. It was at that thought that Robert decided he was going to try and stay in good graces.

Then, another thought occurred to him. "How on earth did I get here?"

"What, you don't remember? I guess I damaged more than just that leg of yours." Bryan murmured, more so to himself than anyone.

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

"I ran you over," The silver-haired man replied casually, as if it was a common act for him. Robert frowned, wondering about the truth of that. He wouldn't put anything past the Russian. "You know, with a car. You remember what a car is, right?"

"Pah. Of _course_ I do! I'm not a dimwit, and I certainly am not suffering from any sort of brain damage, sorry to disappoint you," Robert snapped, frustrated at the way he was being toyed with. "Better luck next time."

Bryan seemed genuinely confused at the purple haired man's reaction, wondering if all car collision victims acted so haughty when they woke up in the morning. Perhaps it was a German thing?

"Sheesh, you act as if I…"

"Hit me with a car?" Robert offered, folding his arms across his chest.

Bryan cracked a smile, a genuine, all-around nice guy smile. It didn't suit him, not one bit. The Russian let a small laugh escape his throat before he turned on his heel, heading towards the window. He pulled back the curtains, revealing a slate grey sky. The sun was once again lost in the mass of dark clouds.

Robert watched warily as the other man made his way back to the bed, leaning one arm over the bed post to support his weight. The smile Robert had come to hate within the time span of five minutes had returned, slowly, and he couldn't help but feel a little small. It wasn't a good feeling, having someone stand over you, just _leering _like you were the lowliest of life forms. It was all he could do to ignore it.

"Why did you bring me here? Surely, if you thought I was as badly injured as you _so_ _hopefully had_," Robert paused to glare at the man opposite him, "you would have taken me to the hospital?"

"I thought I'd take you hostage and demand a large ransom for your safe return."

Robert's eyes widened, alarmed at the mere thought. It wasn't the fact the Russian would probably do what he claimed that shocked him, he expected as much. It was the thought of returning home that made him distraught. He visibly paled, wondering if he had already made the demand. What if they were on their way to get him? What if they were already here? What if he was surrounded and this was all just an elaborate set-up to get him to cooperate?

The delightful sound of Bryan laughing snapped the noble out of the train wreck that was his inner thoughts. When he lifted his crimson gaze, it was to see the dark haired man laughing, yet again, at his expense.

"Wow, I didn't think even _you_ were that gullible." Bryan snickered. "But believe me, I did think about it. Then realized I'd rather not deal with that uptight family of yours." As an afterthought, he added, "No offense."

Being offended was the least of Robert's worries at the moment. Though, he did feel a little better knowing he hadn't been sold out. "Then… why?"

"Because it would have left a bad taste in my mouth if I had left you out there. If the civilians didn't find you first, then the strays probably would have. There wouldn't have been much left of you to be able to get an identity if they had," Bryan paused, finding something amusing about the whole predicament. "You really should be thanking me; I did save your life after all."

"Oh, _thank you_, Bryan Kuznetsov, for mowing me down with your car, kidnapping me and then leaving me in unbearable pain while you take extreme pleasure in watching," Robert snapped again, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Is that not thanks enough? Or perhaps you'd like me to grant you a title as well? How about 'Lord Bryan, The Smug Tormentor'. Is that to your liking?"

Robert's uncharacteristic ravings continued to amuse Bryan to no end. He had made a mental note to _'accidentally'_ run over more nobles the next time he was bored. The entertainment value was priceless.

"Actually, I like it a lot. When do I start?" Robert's stunned silence was enough victory for Bryan. He shifted his weight again, absently flicking a few strands of stray hair from his eyes, his gaze lingering on the German. "You look like hell. Are you in pain?"

Sighing exasperatedly, Robert decided if he wanted to survive the next few minutes he would have to effectively tune out the other man, completely. He couldn't believe the way he was being treated. But then again, it didn't really surprise him. The moment Bryan had waltzed into the room he had expected to be tied to the bed, locked away in the room, never to see the light of day again.

So, in a way, he should be grateful his expectations hadn't come to fruition.

"You still didn't answer my question," Robert grumbled unhappily.

"Which one was that?"

"Why here? You're not exactly known for your hospitality, so surely abandoning me at the hospital would have been less hassle for the both of us."

Bryan seemed to think about it and, for a fleeting moment, Robert feared he might actually take his statement seriously. "I didn't see the need to. I assumed that your leg was broken, but that was it. There was no bleeding, nothing else to indicate your life was in danger."

"Oh, a _broken leg_. How lucky for me! I hope you know moving me might have caused irrevocable damage, you dolt." Robert grumbled. "If I'm not able to walk again, I demand you donate your left leg to me. It's only fair."

This caused Bryan to laugh once more and for the first time in the past twenty minutes, Robert relaxed, if only slightly. "Don't worry. I'm not even sure if it is broken."

"You're not _sure_?!"

"Stand up and let's find out, eh?" Bryan grinned deviously, savouring the defiant look that graced Robert's face. "But if it turns out that it _is_ broken, and my stupid act of righteousness leaves you in a wheelchair then I, Bryan Kuznetsov, vow to you, Robert Jurgen, that I will graciously give up my left leg for you." After a moment of pause, he added, "You'll have to find me first, though."

"Ha-ha. You're hilarious." Robert rolled his eyes.

"Also," Bryan hesitated, wondering if he should bring up the other 'issue'. It really was none of his business, but it could be important, and he had to admit, he was more than a little curious to inquire about it. He eventually decided that he'd rattled the noble's cage enough that once more wasn't going to hurt. "You were muttering. Something about an 'Aloisa' and how you wanted to lock her up in the dungeons."

Robert's eyes narrowed, somewhat dangerously, at the sound of the name escaping the Russian's lips. He had forgotten about that little problem of his and was in no mood to start brooding about it, least of all to his Russian captor.

"I'm assuming you're not here on business." Bryan mused, shifting his thoughtful gaze to the sickly-coloured roof. "You would have been swamped by a mob of bodyguards or something. And you certainly wouldn't have been wondering around in the rain, either." He stopped, returning his gaze to the glaring German. "So, Robert, what brings you to Russia?"

Robert chose to ignore the question. It wasn't like he had an obligation to share his motives. He'd rather chance surviving a guillotine than share his problems, his inner turmoil, with anyone, especially someone he wasn't well acquainted with. So, as a way of avoiding suspicion, he changed the subject.

"And what, may I ask, were _you_ doing driving around like a maniac in that horrid weather? Thrill seeking?"

The Russian grinned and fixed him with a critical gaze. Getting bored with standing up, he seated himself on the end of the bed, placing his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. He could tell his presence unnerved the nobleman, a fact that continued to delight and amuse Bryan considerably. He really was like a tormentor, wasn't he?

"You have your secrets, and I have mine." Was all he said.

Conversation had ceased there, at least for the time being. The sun was peaking through the sheet of grey, sending thin shafts of light into the room. It had begun to rain again, a light drizzle this time. The soft _pitter-patter_ against the window was all that kept the silence drawing out too long.

Sighing, Robert shifted his position again. He visibly paled when he realized his injured leg hadn't miraculously healed in the short time he had been conscious. The pain was raw, fresh, and still hurt like hell. He bit down on his lip to stop himself from wincing out loud, and turned back to his original position. His reaction didn't go unnoticed by the Russian, however.

"You really are hurt," Bryan frowned, leaping to his feet. His apparent concern surprised Robert, who just blinked dumbly. "I'll try and get some pain killers. In the mean time… Don't go anywhere."

Cracking a smug grin at his own joke, Bryan left the room in four paces, his footsteps fading into the distance. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed, signaling that once again the house was empty, save for the disabled German.

Frowning for the umpteenth time, Robert settled back against the pillow. He hadn't noticed how tense he had been until the other man had left. _Odd_. He mused briefly, wondering if Bryan really had gone to get some medication, or if it was just an excuse to desert him, never to come back. That really shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. He shouldn't care if he never sees the Russian again… should he?

He was disturbed when he found he was undecided on the matter, so he merely shook it off as fatigue taking over. Perhaps he should rest. He hadn't noticed how exhausted his body actually was, and he had used more energy than he should have exchanging bouts of words with the slate haired man.

_Of all the people… It had to be Bryan Kuznetsov…_

He sighed dramatically and eventually allowed his body to be claimed by sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

Notes: Reviews! Ohmygodwhat. I'm happy to know that people are enjoying this so far! I hope I continue to not disappoint anyone. I think I'd die inside if that happened. I'm glad the characterization and personalities are well liked, as well. I have to admit I don't remember much of the third season, except that I hate what they did to Robert. XD' Damn them! Bryan is still cool, though. So they're kind-of forgiven.

Now, onto the chapter! I think I need to slow down the pace a little. It's unhealthy to get three chapters out in three days, or so I'm told. Not sure if that means it's a good thing or bad thing, though. Anyway, read on and let me know what you think, okay?

Once more, thank you so so **SO** much for the reviews. They keep me motivated.  
Here's Chapter Three, on the house.  
Enjoy.

* * *

Bryan stepped out into the bitter chill, slamming the door behind him. The weather had been particular moody lately; ranging from snow to shine, to rain to something that could only be classed as down right neutrality. Despite there being no snow, and the drizzle barely noticeable, the air held a particular nasty bite to it that chilled to the bone.

But, that should be expected of the winter season.

Of all the things that bothered Bryan, the cold was not one of them. He did live here, so naturally he'd grown accustomed to it. That did nothing to help his reputation, though. Everyone just assumed it didn't affect him because he was cut from the same cold ice his heart was made of.

It was a well known fact that more than half the town's population avoided him like the plague. Strangers fled in the opposite direction when they saw him walking down the sidewalk, parents ushered their children indoors, afraid he might swipe their child's candy or something. Bryan wasn't stupid and he most certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact everyone seemed to detest his existence.

Everyone still viewed him as the quiet, scheming sadist he appeared to be on television all those years ago.

And that suited him just fine. The town could think of him as the bloody tooth fairy for all he cared, if it meant people would stay out of his way. There were certain perks that came with being feared, too; it meant there'd always be a vacant seat on the bus and he could lay claim to any of the central park water fountains.

Turning a corner, Bryan casually slipped his hands in to his pockets to escape the chill, falling into a casual stroll. Houses lined the walkway to his right, the picket fences in dire need of a paint job. A woman seated in an armchair on her porch eyed him cautiously. Grinning, Bryan faced her and offered a friendly wave. The woman's mouth fell open, aghast, as if he had just told her the dirtiest joke ever.

Her reaction pleased him immensely. He secretly took extreme joy in living up to the expectations the civilians had for him. It was the least he could do for the _generous_ manner in which they treated him, and it was no trouble on his part.

Bryan frowned as he left the suburban area and ventured into the town, hoping to chance upon a random convenient store. The scenery all but boring him to tears, and nothing to keep him occupied, his thoughts traveled back to the man he had left like a sitting duck, back at the apartment.

That night in the accursed downpour, Bryan had not anticipated running into (quite literally) any sort of life form. He hadn't thought anyone stupid enough to be traipsing around town in such compromising conditions. So, naturally, when he'd seen the silhouetted figure he panicked and sent the vehicle he had been driving into a death spiral.

His horror only skyrocketed when he realized he had actually hit the object. It was at that point in time he had begun making plans to escape the city and get as far away as he could. But as much as the little voice in his head approved the notion, he couldn't just leave whoever or whatever he had hit out there. It would only prove that he was as bad as the town's people claimed he was.

So, with great trepidation, he ventured from the safety of his minimally damaged vehicle into the icy rain and towards the pathetic balled up heap that lay in the center of the street. When his gaze had fallen on his victim, he swore his stomach had twisted itself into a permanent knot and then proceeded to leap into his throat.

Bryan's first initial thought was that he had unwittingly murdered the Jurgen heir, however, he visibly and mentally relaxed when he realized the nobleman still drew breath. With surprising ease, he had carried his crumpled body and placed it carefully in the back seat. He was just as shocked to see Robert as the nobleman in question had been to see Bryan, only the former hadn't been awake to witness _his_ particular reaction.

From there he had to decide what to do, and in some ways that was more difficult than facing the fact he had nearly killed someone. Dropping him off at the hospital was his first solution. The force of the impact could have easily caused internal bleeding or spinal damage. Robert had not given any signs that something serious was wrong but, then again, unconscious men never usually did.

Bryan admittedly dismissed that idea for his own sake as much as his victim's. If Bryan had shown up with a crumpled body clutched in his arms, the medics would take one look at him, realize who he was, remember his reputation and automatically assume he had something to do with the patient's condition.

Even though that was _partially_ true, he hadn't done it on purpose and he was one hundred and three percent sure the doctors would accuse him of it. While Bryan had nothing against the German, he wasn't prepared to face charges on the account of someone he barely knew.

So he had moved onto Plan B, which was, at the time, still on the drawing board. His heart beat already going at an abnormal pace, Bryan had nearly leaped out of his skin when Robert had started muttering, but fear had given way to curiosity and he intently listened in, trying to make out the words.

It wasn't a complete failure. He managed to decipher the name 'Aloisa' from Robert's unconscious ramblings, as well as something about dungeons and teaching someone a lesson. The words held little meaning to him, but they had caused him to contemplate as to why the nobleman was here, in Russia, of all places.

It certainly was not for a holiday, that much Bryan knew. This small town wasn't exactly renowned for its five star accommodations, first class meals and million dollar views. If anything, it had a pretty nice collection of stray animals that included a three-legged cat and, oddly enough, a wandering goat.

A business trip was just as farfetched. For one, the town would be buzzing with gossip about the arrival of some overlord from a foreign country. And two, you wouldn't be able to turn a street corner without a man in a black suit obstructing your view. And since neither had occurred, one could safely assume this was some sort of 'covet operation', so to speak.

And besides, no one did business here unless it was the illegal kind.

It was then Bryan had come to the conclusion that Robert was here of his own free will, and that no one seemed to know about it. If that were the case, then exposing his victim to the police or medics would only result in a phone call to said victim's parents, which would in turn put an end to his mysterious visit to Russia.

He wasn't certain when had come to care for the nobleman's plight, but he would have felt terrible if he had done anything that didn't fall under the category of 'helping'. So, life-threatening injury or not, Robert would just have to take his chances of survival at the run down apartment.

"Sir, can I _help_ you?"

Bryan looked up abruptly towards the unexpected voice. A male clerk eyed him warily, impatiently looking him up and down critically. This man knew who he was, but that wasn't what surprised Bryan. He wondered when he had arrived at the store and roughly how long he had been standing there, daydreaming, as it must have looked to the clerk.

Politely asking for the strongest pain killers he had in stock, Bryan diverted his attention to the diverse range of gum on sale while the store owner reluctantly left the front counter and headed out back. He was about to pick up a strawberry flavoured packet when the man burst back into the room almost as quickly as he had left, hoping to catch the slate haired juvenile in an illegal act.

You knew your city was insane when stealing gum was a federal offense.

"Fine weather we're having, eh?" Bryan remarked casually, fishing around in his pockets for some loose change. The clerk made a point of ignoring him, continuing to eye him the way you stared at a particular freakish sideshow attachment at a circus.

"Aha!" Bryan remarked triumphantly, pulling a few notes from his pocket. He hadn't realized it, but the store owner had gasped loudly and raised his hands in a defensive manner, shielding his head from some imaginary threat. "…What? Did you expect me to pull a gun on you or something?"

Peeking through his makeshift shield, the distraught man eventually realized that the only thing his customer wielded were a couple of frightening dollars. Feeling more than a little silly, he snatched them from Bryan's outstretched hand, quickly depositing them in the cashier and returning a few coins worth of change.

Bryan accepted the small packet of medication and left the store without another word, feeling more than a little amused. The rain had not let up and the sky was no better, still harboring the depressing greyness of winter time. All hope of the sun returning diminished when a low rumble echoed ominously throughout the sky, a sure sign the weather was going to get a lot worse before it got any better.

The fact a storm was brewing didn't worry Bryan at all. He enjoyed nature's fury and the fear it seemed to strike into the hearts of people. It was the one time where he truly believed he wasn't the worst tyrant in the neighborhood; no matter how much people distrusted him, he would always place second to the mighty and unpredictable weather.

And maybe, for the first time, he wouldn't be alone for the wondrous show the sky was going to put on. It was always nice to share your interests with someone, even if the other party member clearly didn't give a damn. A small grin creeped its way onto Bryan's face.

Robert probably wouldn't give a damn and would steadfastly refuse to divulge into Bryan's love of storms, and that was what made the idea of sharing the moment that much more glorious. The purple haired nobleman might be staying under his roof but in no way did that mean it had to be an enjoyable stay.

Bryan decided then and there that he enjoyed the German's company, even though they hadn't spoken for more than twenty minutes. He might be moody, and more than a little arrogant, but he was more entertaining than pay-tv, and seemed to be the only person who would openly challenge him to a game of wits and words. Most people wouldn't give him a second glance. And, the fact that Bryan could make the other man uncomfortable simply by smirking added to that joy.

And joy was something his life severely lacked.

The only other time he felt even a fraction of happiness was when his team mates were around. He hadn't seen Tala, Spencer or Ian, even Kai, for more than a week now. He was curious as to what they were up to, but always came to the conclusion that he was better off not knowing. One could never tell what a bored gang of misfit Russians would get up to.

While what he felt towards the German wasn't exactly happiness, or anything else nearly as affectionate, he did feel _something_, but he simply dismissed it as _camaraderie_, even though he doubted that was the correct word for it. It would do for now though, until he could figure out exactly what he _was_ feeling.

Another rumble resonated through the air, successfully snapping Bryan from his reverie. He turned his gaze skywards, wondering if he could pinpoint where the storm was gathering. Unfortunately all the clouds looked the same to him, so he gave up on that endeavor and focused his attention on the footpath in front of him.

He allowed his thoughts to once again travel back to Robert and he suddenly remembered the reason for his adventure to the convenient store. He muttered something under his breath and picked up his pace, breaking into a slow jog. There really was no hurry; it wasn't as if his victim was going anywhere. But the time it had taken to run the errand would probably irritate and madden the nobleman.

And, grinning to himself deviously, Bryan sincerely hoped that was the case.


	4. Chapter Four

Encouraging words are encouraging. X3

Enjoy!

Edit: Ew. I hated how parts of this came out so I went back and revised it. Hopefully it's better now. That's the last time I go over my work while half asleep without the aid of some soda. D:

* * *

The same tiny room appeared again, still covered by its veil of white. Yet this time, there was no noise. There was no pain, no heat, nothing but a hollowed emptiness. It was deathly quiet and more than a little cold this time. A faint breeze entered the room, but where it had come from was a mystery in itself.

No… There was a door, a door located at the far end of the room. It swung open, back and forth, creaking on its hinges. A chilled breeze wafted into the room again, making the room itself feel like the top of a snowcapped mountain caught in a blizzard. Beyond the door… There was nothing; total, eternal darkness.

The darkness called out, its breathy whispers inviting and oh-so tempting. But what did it want? What could the voice possibly want? And why did he feel inexplicably drawn to it? He was sure it was a trap, but he could do nothing to stay his feet. Step after cautious step he ventured toward the door, the ominous voice whispering soothing, encouraging words still…

But all too soon a wicked wind blew, effectively slamming the door shut and locking out the devilish voice. The familiar, loud buzzing noise returned accompanied by a loud hissing noise. The sound magnified, almost to the point where it was deafening. Somehow, he could make out what _it_ was trying to say…

…_YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE…!_

Jerking violently awake, Robert breathed deeply, his throat hoarse, as if he had been purposely holding his breath the whole time he was asleep. He shook slightly but remained where he was positioned, not trusting himself to move for fear that _something_ might happen. His dream – no, nightmare – was still fresh in his mind, still frighteningly _there_ that he felt he could just reach out and grasp it…

_But what did it mean?_

He wasn't exactly one to look into these sorts of things, but this wasn't the first time Robert had had the dream and he was certain it wasn't the last. They had started haunting him ever since he had come to Russia, as if it were an omen of some sort. Every night a new piece of the dream would reveal itself, ultimately making the puzzle of it that more confusing.

But… No. Perhaps he was being silly and reading into this too much. It's not like he ever paid attention to what his dreams or nightmares held before, so why should he start now? And that also brought another dream he had recently to his attention.

"How odd. To think that that particular one involved Bryan," He murmured to himself, curling his arms around the pillow he was resting on. "Strange, too. It felt so real, so vivid. Almost as if…"

"Aw, I'm touched to know you think about me, even in sleep!"

"Gah!"

Robert jerked for the second time that morning, almost falling off the bed. He turned his head slowly, disbelievingly, to make eye contact with a certain, greyish haired, smart talking, smirk wearing, I-think-I'm-too-cool Russian blader… Damn it. There was no mistaking. The man before him really _was_ Bryan, which meant he had not been dreaming.

He was seated at the far end of the room by the window on a stool that, Robert was sure, had not been there previously. He had one elbow propped on the window sill, his head lazily resting in his cupped hand. And he was still wearing that stupid, stupid superior smile of his.

"Do you enjoy startling people to the point where they may drop dead from shock?" Robert inquired, rather annoyed at the thought he had been caught off guard one too many times for his liking.

"More than you know," Bryan agreed, shifting his gaze towards the window. The scene before it was shocking; thick, dark clouds, the greyest of greys, steadily rolled across the sky, looking ready to ravage the land in a savage assault of elements. A loud boom of thunder only added to its intimidation. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, are we looking at the same sky?" Robert asked, shaking his head. He eyed the foreboding heavens with distaste. Storms weren't really his thing. "If that's your idea of beauty, then you certainly have a warped view."

"And you have a shallow one." Bryan countered matter-of-factly. His smile faded somewhat as he stared out the glass window, longingly, as if he wanted to be out there reveling in the demonic atmosphere.

"Excuse me?" Robert asked, a tad confused at the accusation.

"Nothing. Shut up and take your medication." The Russian ordered, pointing towards the bedside table with his free hand, not bothering to turn around.

Blinking, Robert followed the direction in which he pointed and, sure enough, there was a glass of water and two small tablets placed on a paper towel. He eyed them suspiciously, taking into account that they could have been tampered with, or something equally as evil.

As if sensing his apprehension, Bryan tore his eyes away from the spectacle outside to find the German practically glaring daggers at the poor, defenseless tablets. A sly smile crept its way onto his face.

"Believe it or not, your _majesty_, not everyone is out to get you," He snickered. "And what could I possibly gain by harming you any more than I already have? Except, perhaps, a lecture and the threat of going deaf."

"Forgive me if I'm still a little wary about help coming from such an unlikely source," Robert murmured, still eyeing the medication with disdain. "People would faint with shock to realize that _you_ have a soft side. I'm finding it difficult just trying to comprehend the thought."

"Keep talking, your highness, I may just force feed you those poisoned pills, ravage your drugged body and then ditch you in a ravine somewhere in the wilderness."

"Ah, now _there's_ the cold-hearted tyrant I've heard so much about."

Robert had only meant it as a joke, but the look of hurt that flashed across Bryan's face was enough to make him regret his poor choice of words. He was about to apologize, but was cut off by a loud boom of thunder. It made him jump, which in turn got a reaction out of the metallic haired Russian.

It was a low chuckle; but it sounded strangled and forced. Bryan removed his hollowed stare from the nobleman and back to the window, giving it his undivided attention. A lightning bolt decided to rain down from the heavens at that point, striking something in the far distance and briefly illuminating the room.

The light caught Bryan's face, making his pale complexion positively _glow_. While it made him look unnaturally beautiful, it also made him frightening to look upon, his eyes glinting with an unknown emotion. The façade had quickly fallen as the light diminished and he was once again simple, quiet, devious Bryan. Robert hadn't realized he was observing him, until the other male abruptly leaped to his feet, startling the nobleman somewhat.

The Russian blader stepped quietly towards the door, stopping just inside the doorway. He hesitated before fixing Robert with a glare that would make your blood run cold, make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. His gaze was unwavering, intimidating, down right _scary_.

And then, against all logic, he _smiled_.

"You're probably hungry, right? Now what kind of host would I be if I didn't treat you to a meal?"

"Uh…" Robert hadn't meant to stammer but, damn it all, he had been caught off guard _again_. "I wasn't aware you could cook."

"I can't."

And with an evil, Bryan-esque grin, he strode out of the bedroom and into, presumably, the kitchen, leaving Robert in something of a stupor. The other man's mood shift was unsettling and more than a little strange. Then again, this _was_ Bryan. He was generally an unsettling and strange person, or so Robert had recently discovered.

Sighing, he decided it was probably better not to think about it too much. A headache was the last thing he wanted to add into his mix of problems. Having been preoccupied with Bryan's company, it wasn't until now that Robert noticed his leg was throbbing in time with his pulse. It wasn't as painful as it had been earlier, but was noticeable enough to be classed as a nuisance.

So, against what the sane part of him shouted, he leaned over the side of the bed, wincing as he did, and swiped the two pills. Absently he placed them in his mouth, and then reached for the glass of water. The cool liquid was refreshing, soothing his sore throat and washing down the medication.

Now all he could do was wait and see if Bryan's words would prove (disturbingly) true, and they were in fact some sort of drug other than medication. But what's done is done. If Robert did end up in a ravine somewhere, then he had no one to blame but himself for placing a fraction of trust in the Russian.

Lighting flashed again, thunder booming shortly thereafter. A loud clanging noise drifted from one of the other rooms, followed by the sound of metallic objects collapsing against each other. Robert had to allow himself a slight grin.

Bryan might be seen as a daunting figure in person, but he was probably an absolute terror in the kitchen. He could picture the other hacking away at a poor, defenseless vegetable with an oversized kitchen knife, laughing like a madman the whole time. When he thought about it some more, he realized Bryan could make a butter knife look dangerous.

Robert shuddered. He was definitely going to have nightmares tonight.

… Nightmares?

… Oh.

_Oh._

He had temporarily forgotten about _that_. He really wished the Russian would choose this moment to burst back into the room, effectively taking his mind off of his problems. When left alone with his thoughts, Robert tended to brood for hours, eventually ending up with a headache. And an awful one at that.

But alas, the only company he had was the thunderstorm brewing outside and his inner, depressing thoughts, the room still holding nothing which he could focus his attention on. Next time he went out, he was going to ask Bryan to bring back a newspaper, preferably a Russian one, so he could spend countless hours, days even, trying to decipher the words.

Since there was nothing he could do to prevent it, he sighed and allowed himself to think about the issues he had left unresolved back home in Germany. The castle was probably still in an uproar, everyone wondering where their righteous and honorable lord had run off to. Granted, there was only one person who knew where he was, and that particular person had politely turned a blind eye on his actions, much to Robert's relief.

No matter how much he plotted, schemed and cursed, there was just no simple way out of his predicament. No loop hole, no short cut, no second chance, no _nothing_. If anything, he could prolong his demise, but that was all. A temporary solution was better than no solution at all, he decided with a frown.

He was not going give up, though. If he found a way around this whole mess, a way that would not dirty his hands and was disaster free, then to hell with his temporary solution. That also led to another problem, one that could prove fatal…

_Aloisa… _

What was he going to do? How did he go about telling her? How, exactly, was he supposed to express his feelings? Be blunt? Sympathetic? _Honest?_ And what of his parents? What would they think of his proposal? And his friends… Where would they stand on the matter? Would they support him unconditionally, or side with his parents?

It was always a never ending cycle of questions, none of which had a decent answer to accompany them. If he could have his way he'd order everyone locked up in the dungeons and be done with it. But things were never that easy…

The storm outside grew restless, throwing another lightning bolt from the sky. The thunder that followed roared loudly, rattling the window. A torrent of rain was long over due; the clouds looked about ready to burst any minute now, as they continued to steadily roll along the sky. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was.

Robert shifted under the covers, finding his legs stiff from the lack of movement. The throbbing in his leg had dulled, barely noticeable now. He desperately wanted to leap out of the bed, get some movement in his legs, and shake the stiffness from them. He was fairly sure his leg was not broken. If it had been, he would have needed more than simple aspirin to satiate the pain. However, he knew if he gave into his urges he would fall – rather inelegantly – flat on his face.

And he was not about to sacrifice his dignity so carelessly. He wasn't in that much of a hurry to escape the confines of the bed anyway, which was _extremely_ comfortable, now that he thought about it.

A sharp _bang!_ echoed throughout the house, followed by loud, undignified curses. Something had obviously fallen off the kitchen counter (it sounded suspiciously like a toaster, or something equally as heavy and metallic) that sent the Russian into a swearing frenzy.

Robert allowed a small smirk of his own. Watching Bryan struggle in the kitchen was something he would pay to see. It almost made him want to crawl out of the bed and into the other room so he could gloat about him being kitchen handicapped. The optimistic word there is _almost_. For now, he could make due with the knowledge that food preparation was something the Russian failed at. It was a small victory for the nobleman. However small and insignificant it may be, it was still a victory.

He heard a groan of displeasure from the kitchen again and shook his head, fighting off a laugh.

Bryan had proven to be an interesting character, albeit somewhat frustrating. He did not, in any way, do justice to the rumours and gossip the civilians so joyously spread for lack of anything better to do. The part about him being a _tormenting tyrant_ may be true, but he was definitely not a cruel-hearted, blood thirsty demon of the night. And Robert should know; he'd met a certain night-dwelling, shadow-lurking, creep before, _not_ that he was going to drop any names.

Robert deigned to admit he was more than a little intrigued by the slate haired blader. He was sarcastic, sardonic and more than a little sure of himself. While these traits weren't exactly what you would like to see in a person, they were a mix that worked well for Bryan. They made him seem… _charming_.

In a weird, twisted kind of way.

But that didn't mean he liked him. Not in the least.

Not entirely sure he was convincing himself, Robert dismissed the thought out of hand. He decided he should start working on a plan to survive the night. He was certain he could live through the Russian's subtle attempts at getting under his skin; heck, he hung around Johnny more often than not and in some ways, the Scot was the more unbearable of the two.

What Robert wasn't so confident about was living to tell the tale of Bryan's daunting experiments – sorry – _cooking_.


	5. Chapter Five

Wow, this has been a long time coming. Basically thirteen months since I've been here and attempted to update/add anything... I'm sorry, to those who bothered to read and even subscribe to this. Thank you for doing so, as well. I'm making an effort to be more frequent now, as I've found my groove thing again. (: This is still Master Twii, apologies for the abrupt name change. But it's all shiny and new and ooohhh~

Anyway, I hope I can somehow redeem myself. This chapter is mediocre, but... hopefully it's a step in the right direction. En... joy?

* * *

When people thought of Bryan, the term 'chef' was never used in the same sentence, and with good reason. It was no secret that he had little to no culinary skills, something that both miffed and pleased him. It was good, because no one ever asked him to prepare meals or help around the kitchen, everyone preferring to keep him well away from the stove and the dangerous, sharp, cutlery. The last time he tried to help, he had nearly given Kai an interesting new haircut, and almost set Ian on fire.

From that day onwards, he was banished from stepping within three feet of the kitchen.

Fortunately, none of the other boys were here to witness him breach those boundaries. Granted if they were, Kai would probably faint with shock and the other boys would errupt into a fit of rauceous laughter at the sight of him weilding a kitchen utensil other than a fork or spoon.

The first droplets of rain fell from the overcast sky, landing silently on the small kitchen window, trickling paths down the sleek glass. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning streaked the horizon, or what was visible of it. The sky itself was black; whether from the hue of the clouds or nightfall, it was hard to tell. It was probably a bit of both.

Bryan found it difficult to tear his eyes away, but he had a task to complete, so he reluctantly looked away and hobbled over to another cupboard. So far, the cupboards had proved to be depressingly barren. A couple tins of tomato paste, a can of corn and something so old the label had peeled away were all he had come across.

He came to a stop before one of the upper cupboards, careful not to apply any pressure on his right foot. He had accidentally knocked the steel kettle off the kitchen counter, and it rather inconveniently came crashing down on his foot. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been filled to the brim with water at the time.

Curling his hand around the small handle, he pulled it open slowly, cautiously, not exactly prepared for what might be lurking behind it. To his relief, there was nothing but a box of malicious crackers and a layer of dust that would put a library to shame.

"Hmmm…" Bryan murmured, reaching for the box. They had not yet expired, so they were legally edible. And, compared to everything else he had found, they were looking to be the most appetizing as well. "I bet his majesty would have a royal fit if this was all there was to eat…"

Grinning, he decided that was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

He stopped inside the doorway, just in time to see something topple off the bed, landing with a loud _thud_. He had to blink twice before he realized exactly what had just happened. Snorting indignantly, he burst into a small fit of laughter.

"Oh, oh man…" Bryan struggled to get his laughter under control. "What _were_ you trying to accomplish? A heroic escape?"

Clearly unhappy that someone had witnessed his ungraceful fall, Robert grumbled and looked away stubbornly, refusing to meet the eye of his captor. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at the wall, as if it was somehow its fault.

"For your information, _no_, I was not. You've probably got the whole place sealed so my attempts would be pointless even if that was my intention," he muttered. "I just lost my balance."

"Lost your balance, now there's a good one," Bryan snickered, walking further into the room. "Looks like your highborn etiquette failed to assist you this time. You should take ballet classes; I bet that would fix your _balance_ problem."

"When you're done being a comedian," Robert snapped, finally averting his gaze from the wall to look up at the slate haired blader. "Could you get over here and help me up?"

"Oh, so now you _want_ my help?"

Bryan reached back towards the door, trying to locate the light switch. When he had, he flicked it absently. After a seconds pause, the artificial light flooded the room, the sheer brightness from the globe more than enough to burn his eyes, even if he had just ventured in from a well lit room. After his eyes adjusted, he walked around the bed, coming to a standstill before his victim.

"Here," He said, after a moment of pause. The noble made no move to indicate he had heard anything, continuing to stare hollowly at the floor. "Robert!"

This time the man in question looked up, their eyes connecting. Robert's face was expressionless, and his eyes belied little to no emotion. They were a nice shade of red though and, for a moment, Bryan had nearly been absorbed into the crimson hue. He shook his head clear, and gestured to his outstretched hand, urging the other to take it.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" Bryan murmured, when the nobleman made no move to accept his generous offer. "Okay, how about this. _Don't_ take my hand and I'll drag you down to the basement. You might have a dungeon and fancy guillotines, but I have rats the size of a dinner plate dwelling down there," He paused, smirking at the horrid expression that appeared on Robert's face. "Would you rather take your chances with me, or the critters? I bet they're hungry, too…"

"I bet they are also a lot more tolerable." Robert muttered quietly, staring at the bedside table as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Shaking his head warily, Robert turned back to eye his outstretched hand and, with a resigned sigh, slipped his own hand into Bryan's. The Russian smile triumphantly, placing his free hand over Robert's to get a better a grip, and pulled him to his feet. The nobleman staggered to keep balance, causing Bryan to automatically place his hands on either of the other's shoulders, steadying him.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Bryan smiled, a sickly sweet smile that instantly made Robert suspicious. "Now… _sit_."

And with a not-so-gentle push, the nobleman fell back against the bed with a loud 'oof!'. He turned his sharp-eyed glare on the Russian, who was _laughing _at him. Miffed at the thought the other had taken advantage of him, he looked around for a projectile, preferably something big, sharp and heavy, but with no luck. As a last resort, he reached for the pillow behind him, promptly tossing it across the room, hitting the snickering boy square in the face. It probably didn't hurt, but it certainly made Robert feel a lot better.

"Bastard…" Bryan muttered, scooping the pillow from the floor. He was about to throw it back, when a bright flash of lightning and a loud rumble of thunder caught his attention. Forgetting about the pillow and the outright war he was about to start, he walked over to the window to observe, admire, the spectacle outside.

The rain began to fall harder, spattering the window and blurring his view of the wonderful storm. No matter. He could still hear the joyous sound of thunder, could still feel the electric tension present in the air, could taste the fear on his tongue… Storms always had this effect on the slate haired Russian. They shocked and awed and amazed him.

"You really do find them beautiful, don't you?"

Temporarily forgetting he had a guest, he turned his head slightly, surprised to find the other man observing him. Shrugging, he reluctantly moved away from the window and back over beside the bed.

"You're sharp. Nothing gets past you."

"What do you see in them? Besides the obvious."

"Well… I could tell you," Bryan mused, seating himself on the bed. "But you probably wouldn't understand."

"That's a given. You're probably the most confusing person I know," Robert agreed, folding his arms. "And that's saying something, considering I've had the pleasure of knowing you for less than a day."

"You flatter me, your majesty," Bryan said dryly, narrowing his eyes, flicking a few annoying strands of hair from his eyes. "Remember; Dark, dank basement full of rats."

"Your threats don't scare me."

"Really? Huh, that's a first. They should," Bryan shook his head in mock astonishment. Then, leaning a little closer to the nobleman, he added lowly, "Haven't you heard the rumors? Apparently I take extreme joy in disemboweling and hanging innocent people by their toenails. I _am_ the resident homicidal tyrant, so I have to keep up appearances.

Despite himself, Robert smiled. "I can't imagine how you keep up with their demands."

"Such is the life of an evil maniac," He sighed dramatically, shaking his head wistfully. "It can be trying at times, though. Do you know what it's like waking up knowing you're the most feared man in the entire country? I scare myself sometimes."

Thunder crackled noisily, a deafening, roaring noise that startled Robert visibly before he could reply. He drew his arms around himself, averting his eyes to the burgundy coloured covers, clearly unnerved. Bryan had watched him, at first confused, and then slowly, surely, realization dawned on him.

"You're afraid of thunder." It wasn't a question, more a simple statement, a well-known fact.

"No, I… That's _absurd_." The German scoffed.

His face was defiant, but the uneasiness, the fear, was evident in his eyes, something that Bryan easily recognized. He felt a slight trace of pity for his victim and his predicament, and so said the one thing that seemed logical at the time.

"Want to play Go Fish?"

Caught unawares by the question, Robert simply stared at him, dumbstruck.

"You know, the card game. Little thought, maximum fun. It's especially great when you're drunk," Bryan grinned, seemingly at a distant memory. Then he frowned, shock-horror replacing his glee. "Please tell me you know what Go Fish is?"

"No, Bryan, I have absolutely no idea what this foreign card game is. But please, don't keep me in the dark. What is this wondrous game you speak of?"

"Seriously? How in the world do you highborn keep yourselves amused…? On second thought, don't answer that. Okay, well…"

"Bryan, are you familiar with the word 'sarcasm'?"

"…Oh. Oh," Bryan stammered, amazed that even he didn't pick up on that. "Those aspirin tablets must have done a lot more than just relieve the pain. Are you feeling all right?"

"About as fine as a person can feel being kept under captivity while being watched like a hawk twenty-four seven."

"I'll just take that as a yes," Bryan shrugged, dismissing the impatience that had crept into the other's voice.

Leaning towards the bedside table, he pulled on the small wooden handle, opening the drawer. It took him a short while to locate what he was looking for, absently fishing it out of the drawer and then closing it, resuming his position on the bed. He tipped the small cardboard packaging upside down, a deck of cards falling out and landing gracefully in his hands, and began to shuffle the cards.

"I never said I wanted to play."

Bryan simply shrugged, not particularly caring if he wanted to play or not. He shuffled the cards around for a few more seconds, placing seven cards next to him, and seven more closer to Robert, situating the remainder of the deck between them. He scooped up the cards he laid out for himself, studying them with false interest.

Scowling at the cards, Robert eventually did the same. He figured it better to amuse the Russian and play one game with him, instead of risk having the slate haired man sit here all night just waiting for him to pick up the dastardly cards. It seemed like something Bryan would do.

"I knew you would see things my way," Bryan grinned victoriously. His grin soon faded, morphing into a look of utter concentration, his eyes dancing along the cards he held firmly in his hands. "Seven of hearts?"

Muttering something incoherent under his breath, Robert reluctantly removed the card in question from his hand, offering it to his opponent. "Sheer luck. Two of spades."

"No offense, your highness, but _go fish_." Bryan smiled gleefully, setting his newly rewarded seven of hearts beside the seven of diamonds.

Frustrated, the German tossed his cards onto the bed, stubbornly folding his arms. His glare shifted towards the window, just in time to catch a bolt of lightning raining down from the sky. Shuddering, he mentally prepared himself for the loud, ungodly sound that would inevitably follow. He forced himself to look elsewhere, anywhere, except at the glass window and his captor.

"I don't see the…" The thunder crackled, causing him to flinch. He quickly resumed so as not to raise suspicion. "… fun in all this. This game is pointless. There is nothing intelligent about it and what's worse, there's nothing in it for the winner."

Bryan nodded, acknowledging that Robert had a valid point. The game would be much more interesting if they were playing for stakes. The only problem was he didn't exactly have anything to bet. And the nobleman probably owned everything in the whole damned country, so…

"Aha!" Bryan hadn't realized he had exclaimed out loud until he was rewarded with a puzzled glance from the man opposite him. Clearing his throat, he elaborated his sudden burst of enthusiasm, "Fine then. Let's make a wager."

"And… what is it you wish to wager?"

"Russia."

"Uh…Forgive me if I'm wrong, which I'm sure I am _not_… But you do not actually own Russia."

"Mere detail," Bryan shrugged, pretending to examine his nails.

"Very well," Robert nodded after a time, deciding to humour the other boy. It was a just a little bit of harmless fun. "I accept your bet. I suppose I'll have to wager something as well… How about my most faithful and trusted servant?"

"A chamberlain, eh? All right, accepted," Bryan grinned. "I've always wanted my own personal servant. Do you think he'll be upset if I tell him I want a eunuch for the job?"

"I suggest you actually win first before you go around making appointments," Robert murmured, effectively hiding his amusement. For the second time since awaking in the forsaken room, he actually felt relaxed.

"Don't worry, my little lordling, I plan to," Bryan said, rather gallantly. Absently he tapped at the two cards situated on the bed. "And the last time I checked, I was already winning."

As the storm rumbled and raged in the background, the two of them became increasingly engrossed in the child-like card game. Neither of them were aware of how much time had passed, but it can't have been that long as the deck of cards slowly dwindled down to the last few, each of them having a substantial number of pairs. The winner was still unclear as both were evenly matched throughout the entirety of the game, however the victor would soon be determined.

Bryan smiled reufully to himself, half wishing the game could be extended. He hadn't expected much to come from the game, but he was genuinely amused by it. And if all went well and he played his next few turns right, he would have his own chamberlain by the end of the week. A bet was a bet, whether it was intended to be serious or not.

Robert was staring intently at the cards held loosely in his hands, as if calculating the ones he had left and comparing them to the ones left in the deck, and the ones that occupied Bryan's hands. It was a futile attempt, causing him to sigh. The Russian boy was still looking much too smug. "This isn't fair. You should let me win."

Bryan looked confused as he looked up from his own cards, eyeing him with suspicion. "And… why would I do that? I thought you were all about 'honor'." he ventured carefully, unsure of whether or not it was a trap. Then again, Robert was never one to play dirty. Ah, now _there_ was a thought.

"I'd like to say because you're a good person, but that would be stretching it," for once the German said it with a faint trace of enjoyment rather than outright malevolence. "The playing grounds are clearly uneven. I'm drugged up on pain medication. Oh, and you hit me with a car. That should qualify for some sort of handicap."

"No, it just means I've got an unfair advantage," Bryan shrugged with indifference. "You really are a little drama queen. You're going to remind me of this every chance you get, aren't you?"

"Every second I'm held captive."

"Hah!" He laughed aloud, setting his cards onto the bed face-down. Folding his arms across his chest, Bryan leaned his back on the bed-post and considered Robert briefly. "You know… I'm not even sure I did hit you. There was no visible dents on the car, and you're obviously not as injured as you think you are… the details are sketchy, but the facts are there. You probably just fainted against the car as it came to a halt. Would account for a few things…"

"You decide to play detective now of all times?" Robert scoffed, dropping his own cards onto the burgundy covers. "Then explain…"

"Why you're in so much pain?" the other boy asked, smiling almost sheepishly. "Uh, yeah… that probably has something to do with the journey from the backseat to the bedroom."

Robert's eyes began to narrow, the crimson hue practically smouldering, demanding an explanation. Despite having been glared at the entire time, Bryan did not particularly enjoy being on the receiving end of the piercing gaze. There were few things that intimidated him and one of those things should definitely not have been an uptight, sharp-eyed German blader. It irked him considerably.

"Hey, man, don't look at me," Bryan said defensively, scowling slightly. "It was my, er… friend… who decided to take it upon themself to move you… and then drop you… numerous times. Never was the strong type, or the reliable kind… but the point is, you're directing that death glare at the wrong person."

Why _was_ he glaring, anyway? Robert had looked about ready to have a fit when he found out about the whole 'I-hit-you-with-a-car' incident which, in some cases, was understandable. The nobleman had pouted like a little girl and bitched an aweful lot, but not once did he appear grateful to still be breathing. His anger now was different. It was focused, much more potent, directed at a singular point.

The Russian must have missed this point, completely blindsighted by blazing eyes and the scrutinizing gaze that accompanied them. Bryan sat there, an air of calm around him, his exterior belying any emotion as he contemplated his unlikely companion's sudden shift in demeanor. The occasional crack of thunder was all that disrupted the silence, preventing the room from falling into a state of eerie calm. The storm was beginning to subside, however the lights began to flicker dangerously once more.

The drawn-out staring match came to an abrupt halt as Bryan pulled himself from the bed, forfeiting the challenge, a smile accompanying him as he made for the door. He paused inside the entrance, tilting his head to consider his bedridden guest for a moment. Robert's gaze appeared to be more suspicious than angry now, much to Bryan's relief. And so he grinned deviously, like he always did, and lifted a hand, pointing towards the bed.

"Game over."

Confused, Robert watched as Bryan pointed to where the game of cards had taken place. The remainder of the deck had mysteriously disappeared, as well as the cards Robert had been holding. Upon closer inspection, he found they were organized in pairs, located on his opponent's side. Bryan laughed cheerfully, almost mockingly, as Robert awarded him yet another scowl.

"You can rule Russia some other time."

Lightning split the sky in two once more and as Bryan made his exit, the lights flashed once, twice… and finally died.


	6. Chapter Six

Last chapter wasn't exactly up to par. I found it, half finished and went with it, trying my best to salvage it. I can't even remember the story behind the game of cards... IT HAD PURPOSE AT THE TIME, I SWEAR! Aha. Yeah. Nobody likes a rambler, so here's this chapter. Enjoy! And thank you, to everyone who bothers to read this story. (:

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He had the dream again.

His attention had been absorbed by the grotesquely peeling ceiling since he awoke before dawn, brooding over the dream and what it may or may not mean. In truth, Robert had never been one to believe in such things as divine callings, however they were still too frequent to be considered otherwise. The room had been dark when his sleep had been disturbed, dusk soon giving way to daybreak as the first tendrils of light creeped through the window, all sense of time distorted to him. The sky was littered with puffy white clouds, non-threatening and almost cheery compared to the previous nights weather.

The same room had been present, the same forbidden door and the same breathy whispers, everything confined within the tiny white walls. It had proceeded as normal, up until the door creaked open and the buzzing subsided, allowing the seductive whispers to flood the room. On the other side of the door lay sprawling darkness, endless midnight. The stark contrast between the outer limits and the inner sanctum was like comparing good and evil, right from wrong.

But which one was right? The room, safe, hidden from the horrors that lurked beyond? Or the abyss, hungry for lost causes?

There had been figures… he remembered. Two figures, encompassed by swirling fog. They stood tall, powerful, gesturing him forth, offering him a world of promise. They had been shadows, silhouettes, faceless, yet smiles could be placed on their hollow faces. Cruel, heartless, malicious smiles. What did they want from him?

_Perhaps… they want me to choose my own demise._

Pushing the covers aside, Robert sighed as he pushed himself up, finally tearing his eyes away from the roof. What was he thinking? He was reading too far into this, seeing connections where there were none. As symbolic as the dream appeared to be, he credited most of it to the lack of a proper nights sleep and the need of a decent meal. He was weary, fatigued.

With that in mind, Robert swung his feet around the side of the bed. He frowned, then. After learning that there was a strong chance he had not, in fact, been hit by a car, he was about ready to murder something. The Russian boy in particular, if he hadn't been careful. His anger surprised even himself. In the end he figured some part of him really wanted to believe it, and by believing in it, the pain (or lack there of) became real.

It provided him with a cover, an excuse, the perfect opportunity to continually hide from his problems.

And now? Now there was nothing; no guise, no façade to hide behind.

Sighing in defeat, he pulled himself to his feet. Robert half expected to tumble down, to be in excruciating pain. Not surprisingly, nothing of the sort happened. With a dismal shake of his head, he moved towards the door, stepping over the discarded cards from last nights game.

The rest of the house, he found, was as appallingly decorated as the bedroom. An old TV set was pushed into one corner, looking a little on the beaten side, a basic table situated in the middle of the 'living' room, the only other furniture occupying the small room a tattered two-seater lounge, where his captor had currently taken up residence, sleeping soundly. The kitchen was located just beyond the living room, but Robert didn't much feel like sight seeing.

Walking soundly across the room, he located his boots by the door to which he quickly slipped on. He threw a look back towards the couch and the sleeping boy. He couldn't help but twitch his mouth into a small smile. He didn't feel the least bit remorseful about up and leaving without so much as a 'goodbye'. There was no reason for his staying there anymore, no obligation. The two of them weren't even friends. Just unfortunate acquaintances under disastrous circumstances, nothing more.

After a final glance, Robert pushed open the wooden frame and exited the threshold. The frosty air outside was like a slap in the face, the wind nipping at exposed skin. Upon closer inspection, the area before him was eerily deserted. The two story apartment building was surrounded on either side by taller buildings, most likely rundown and abandoned. The buildings themselves were hidden, located away from the residential area and more lively parts of town. If the chainlink fence at the end of the street was anything to go by, along with with the discarded 'keep out' signs, then these buildings had been used for something and had subsequently closed down. Out of the way, desolate, secluded, this area was perfect for… for…

_The Blitzkrieg Boys._

Even Robert had to smile at that. It was just so _them_ that it was bordering on comedic. He picked up the pace then, walking in the opposite direction of the chainlink fence. The path soon gave way to the road, leading into town. Hoping it also led in the direction of his hotel, he began the long, torturous trek through the deserted area. And it _was_ empty. No soul stirred, no animal cried out, no car screeced down the streets…

And that was what bothered him.

The previous night, Kuznetsov _had_ come speeding towards him in a vehicle, he _had_ almost killed him and he most definitely had transported his unconscious body in said vehicle. So then, where was it? There had been no car parked in the alley, nor on the sides of the street. As far as he could see, the car didn't exist, a mere phantom.

Robert was curious as to its disappearance, but decided not to dwell on the matter. Instead he spared a thought to everyone back home in Germany, wondering if the castle was on the brink of crumbling yet. His parents probably had each and every person in the castle sweeping the rooms for leads, any thing that might point to where their noble heir had run off to. If not, then they had probably hired the best private detectives in the country. Were they in the holding cells now, torturing Johnny for information?

… was he even worth a private slueth? His parents never were ones to just throw money away. His thoughts continued to drag on in the same direction, becoming nothing but a ball of confusion and pity and depression. He allowed his feet to carry him in whichever direction they may.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. When Robert finally pulled himself from his own little world it was to find the staircase of the hotel before him. It appeared to be evening as the light was fading, the sun having disappeared behind thick rolling clouds and the lamp posts littering the street began to flicker on. Shaking the last of his confusion off, the German noble ascended the stairs, pushing his way through the double doors into the lobby.

The receptionist, a greying old man, looked up from his crossword puzzle and fixed the intruder with a surprised glance, as if he hadn't expected his guest to return. Robert simply nodded an acknowledgement in his direction before turning into one of the corridors. His room was located on the first floor and while it was not extravagant, it was at least halfway decent, not having detected any pests or mould as of yet. Perhaps his standards were too high?

The brass handle was loose and rattled, a sure sign the lock was faulty which forsakened the need of a key. Robert would have complained, however he did not bring anything of apparent value with him, nothing that greedy thieves would find profit in. Pushing his way through the door, he closed it just as quickly, leaning against the frame. The room looked, and smelled, exactly the way it was left. The windows were shut and the curtains drawn, keeping whatever warmth was still left in the room. The bed was made-up, the floor had been vacuumed and the desks were impeccably clean.

Exactly the same way it was left.

Robert crossed the room to stand before the dresser drawers. A mirror sat atop the smooth surface, to which he casually disregarded his reflection. He felt like hell, he probably didn't look any better. A photo, a personal photo, was also situated on the dresser. He eyed it with disdain, wondering why he bothered to bring it. This too, he ignored, instead turning his attention to the other object located on the dresser, his fist curling around the small device. It felt heavier, somehow.

"Griffolyon," he murmured, staring intently at the beyblade. At this moment, he felt the bit-beast was the only one who understood him. "What should I do?"

Suddenly, he felt nauseous. Gripping the drawer with his free hand, he replaced the beyblade back in its initial position, sending his hand to his forehead. His mind was abuzz, burning, a splintering headache. It lasted a moment before subsiding, the aftermath causing a dull _thump, thump_ to resonate through his mind, distorting his focus. With great difficulty he moved away from the dresser in search of the bed, collapsing atop the covers after finally locating it.

For a long while he lay there, listening to the steady _thud, thud_. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, his body craving rest. It had been almost a week since he arrived in the desolate town, there was only so long he could bide his time. However, Robert decided then and there that he would allow himself a small reprieve. He needed a clear head, a good sense of reasoning to be able to sort his mess of problems out. This could be attained through sleep.

Despite himself, he smiled. That was the most logical thought he had had all day. As sleep slowly began to creep up on him, he found himself thinking about none other than his Russian captor. What would his reaction be when he realized his captive had, in fact, made a daring escape? Robert wished he could see the look on his face when it dawned on the Russian that he would not be receiving that chamberlain, as well.

He surprised himself, sparing a thought to the obnoxious boy with his obnoxious smirk and obnoxious laughter. What surprised Robert even more, was that he wanted to be back in the small, dinghy apartment room, curled under the covers, listening to the rain.

He really was tired.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Tardy, tardy, tardy. I'm sorry for the lack of updates. D: thanks (yet again) to everyone who reads. And a big thanks for the review! (: If you like what I'm doing, you should let me know. Or... not. In either case, please enjoy.**

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"Inconsiderate, irritating… _infuriating_…"

Hands grasping the wooden spoon with more force than was necessary, Bryan continued to stir the contents of the oversized cooking pot before him. The rising steam fogged up the small kitchen window, leaving him to glare at nothing but his misted reflection.

The weather outside was what one would consider normal. The sky was a faded canvas, clouds littered here and there as they rolled lazily across the sky. There were no remnants from the previous nights erratic weather, no aftermath, no evidence of the elemental backlash. It was dreary, dismal… _normal_.

That left the Russian feeling even more annoyed. He wanted the weather to match his mood; dark, dangerous. Needless to say, he wasn't the least bit pleased to wake up and find that his captive had escaped.

It shouldn't have bothered him that much. In fact, it didn't bother him at all. Bryan felt underappreciated. While he was not about to win any awards for hospitality anytime soon, he was still convinced that he deserved _some_ kind of recognition for his selfless deeds. Was that so much to ask for?

Hell, the ungrateful nobleman could have at least left a post-it note.

"Aggravating, annoying… _agitating_…"

A sharp knock at the door ceased his senseless muttering. Eyes slanting suspiciously, he waited for the noise to die down before returning to the task at hand. The pot and its contents bubbled ominously, filling in the void. For some odd reason, Bryan felt like cackling. It just felt like the thing to do in such a situation.

The incessant rasping of knuckles on the wooden door returned. Giving up, Bryan yanked the large spoon from the pot and stalked towards the door. In one swift movement, he pulled the frame open, holding the wooden spoon in a threatening manner at the offender.

It was all the slate-haired male could do not to sputter and spit venom at the same time.

"Well… the devil himself come to pay me a visit? How thoughtful."

Standing at the door, slightly bewildered at the cold manner in which he was greeted, Tala Ivanov merely blinked innocently and tilted his head slightly. The red-headed Russian was wearing an overcoat that somehow seemed unfitting for the mild climate. Pushing his hair back, he felt awkward standing outside the doorway. Just a little bit.

One second passed. Ten seconds passed. A minute...

"So… are you going to let me in or continue pointing that thing at me?" He ventured carefully. Tala _really_ didn't like the way his teammate was holding the utensil.

"Stand there for a little longer. Still trying to decide whether or not I like you enough."

Frowning inelegantly, Tala grumbled under his breath and pushed past the taller boy. Bryan felt put out, but didn't raise a finger of protest. Closing the door behind him, he walked back over to his station before the stove, returning the spoon to its rightful place.

A tense silence followed, broken only by the sound of bubbling water. Bryan pushed a hand through his messy hair, wondering about the sudden appearance of his sort-of friend. No call, no warning. Was it just a spur of the moment thing? He heavily doubted Tala dropped by just to _'catch up'_.

"You could have called, you know. Sent a letter. By post. Or by carrier pidgeon. I don't know, something would have been nice."

Bryan half-expected Tala to drop the 'mom' response. Instead he was rewarded with more silence. The corners of his mouth began to twitch irritably. Before it became too much, he whipped around and marched back to the living room, leaving his weapon of choice where it was.

Tala was sprawled across the aged couch lazily, staring morbidly at the grotesque ceiling, as if there was a particular point among the patches of flaky paint that disgusted him. Without peeling his eyes away, he murmured,

"How the hell could I have sent you a letter? You destroyed the letterbox. What was left of it, anyway."

Bryan conceded that point, nodding his head, albeit begrudgingly. He decided to let the subject slide (for now at least) and took a seat on the arm of the couch. Balanced skillfully, he too turned his gaze towards the roof, trying to find what the red-head was looking at.

"What brings you back here, then? Something tells me it wasn't for the warm reception and delicious home-cooked meals."

Tala grinned; cold and cruel. Bryan caught the look from the corner of his eyes. To anyone else, it would have been chilling, a look you would cower under. To him though, it was plain, simple Tala. The look had only lasted an instance, vanishing shortly thereafter.

"Honestly? I came to see how you were."

_He's lying. No-one cares about you, Bryan. No-one _appreciates_ you._

"Somehow I doubt that."

His tone was more bitter than he intended. If the red-haired blader noticed, he gave no indication. The two of them continued to stare at the roof for a time. It could have been seconds, minutes or hours that passed. The only noise that disturbed the peace was the occasional wind rattling the door, the windows.

"So… get into any trouble while I was absent? Or do I not want to know?"

He had spoken so quietly, Bryan was almost sure it was his imagination. He shrugged casually.

"Eh, I wrangled myself a noble overnight. Shame though, he got away. Could have made a fortune off of him, as well."

Bryan had almost forgot about that particular scoundrel and the events that led up to their unfortunate encounter. He had been so surprised to find his former teammate at his doorstep that everything else had seemed insignificant. Now that he remembered though, he was still slightly miffed.

For some unknown reason, this seemed to gather Tala's attention. He removed his gaze from the ceiling and sat a little straighter on the couch.

"Wait,_ wait_, you're not talking about the Jurgen heir, are you?"

Surprise. Disbelief. Whichever emotion came first, it was plastered across the silver-haired blader's face as clear as day.

"How can you _possibly_ know that?!"

Amusement danced in Tala's cold eyes, a devious smile playing across his lips. When he smiled like that, it wasn't good for anyone. Least of all the people in the same room. But Bryan was persistent. Even if it ended up costing him in the end, he demanded to know.

Surprisingly, Tala gave in more readily than expected. He was almost eager to share this shred of information.

"It's all over the newspapers. Well, in his home country, anyway. The Jurgen estate was in an uproar for quite some time, as their heir had mysteriously vanished without a word," he said lowly, as if it was a secret meant to be kept between the two of them. "His parents were quite furious, I'd imagine."

"You know, Tala, that doesn't really explain anything."

"You didn't let me finish," he muttered darkly before continuing. "Just before… what was his name? Robert? Just before he up and left, his parents accepted an offer for his hand in marriage. Some fish-faced girl by the name of Allisa Deiderich or something—"

"Aloisa?"

"Everyone's a critic," Tala snapped, annoyed at the constant interruptions. Bryan decided to let him finish before speaking again. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling they were acting like a pair of gossiping schoolgirls. "As I was saying. This Aloisa girl has no real merit. She's not an outstanding beauty, nor is she royalty. But her father owns a large part of a shipping company. Apparently, the Jurgen's think they could benefit from such a holy union sometime in the future.

"Because he disappeared shortly after the _very_ public announcement, his parents think he's skimping on his duty. They were nothing short of declaring his actions treasonous," Tala paused momentarily. Whether to catch his breath or for dramatic effect, it was unclear. "It was the McGregor kid who brought everything back into perspective, though. Who would have thought _he_ had depth? But the official story is the Jurgen boy is out searching for the most _exquisite_ ring for his bride-to-be."

The red-head couldn't keep the sickening grin from spreading across his face. "Although, if what you say is true and he's hiding out in a backwater town like this, he's probably shopping for a farm animal. Which, from what I hear, isn't far from the truth."

Bryan ignored the other boy as he began to laugh mirthfully. Rather than feeling amused, as his cohort no doubt expected, he was more perplexed by the news. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Robert had definitely been acting out-of-character. That is to say, more grumpy than haughty. In due fairness, Bryan was partly to blame for that. If he had woken up in the noble's bedridden situation, he would have been pissed as well. As annoyed as the German had been, he had also been adamant in remaining where he was.

He didn't demand to be taken to the hospital. He complained about it a lot, but never once asked to leave.

Bryan was no mastermind or super sleuth, but he suspected Robert's subtle willingness to the given situation had something to do with the Deiderich girl.

Leaving meant returning, and returning meant giving in.

Bryan smiled at that. As uncaring as he was, by allowing the the nobleman to stay, had he done something right? Something _nice_ for someone? Something worth being appreciated for? He liked to think so, even if it was for selfish reasons on both of their parts that they obliged to the situation.

Even after all these slight revelations, it still left one, very important question unanswered.

"Why were you in Germany, again?"

In the middle of a yawn, Tala ceased motion, blinking under Bryan's scrutinizing gaze. His own cold eyes began to narrow, bemused, his lips curling into another devious smile. He shrugged and, running a hand through his hair absently, replied simply,

"The circus was in town."

If there was meant to be a subliminal message in his statement, the silver-haired blader completely missed it. The first tendrils of darkness began to creep into the room, through the unshielded windows, signaling the beginning of nightfall. Staggered by the amount of time that had passed, Bryan pulled himself off the arm of the couch. His back was stiff, and his legs had gone numb.

A loud sizzling, followed by a harmonious crackle captured both boy's attention. Tala looked up curiously, while Bryan paled considerably.

"Are you… cooking something?" The red-head asked suspiciously.

Recovering from his three-second stupor, Bryan feigned innocence, replying with an airy,

"Now _that's_ something you do not want to know about."


	8. Chapter Eight

**I should never be allowed to write fanfiction after two in the morning. Ever. :D feel free to shoot me, or throw bread crumbs, if you want. But please enjoy~**

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Simple, pure… undisturbed.

For the first time in as many nights as he could remember, Robert's sleep was not plagued by ghostly apparitions and haunting whispers. When he woke the next morning, it was to a clear head. The feeling was refreshing. The only thing that felt off was the stiffness in his neck. However, he was convinced the pillows were made of granite, so was unsurprised by this.

As he pushed the covers aside and pulled his legs over the edge, a yawn escaped him. The clock on the bedside dresser read just before noon. He really _had_ been tired. He wouldn't be caught dead waking up at such an unearthly hour on a normal day.

Dragging himself from the comfort of the bed, he walked stiffly towards the bedroom door, making sure the lock was unlocked. The maid would no doubt come by for house keeping any minute now and he didn't want to be disturbed. His mind was refreshed, but he still felt… unclean. Nothing a hot shower wouldn't fix.

As he made for the bathroom, he paused just before entering, a troubling thought crossing his mind.

_Does this place even_ have_ maid service?_

It was nothing of particular importance. Yet he couldn't help but wonder that, if they couldn't afford to fix broken locks, they wouldn't have the income to hire maids. Shrugging to himself, he disappeared into the bathroom, making sure that this particular door locked in place.

It wasn't until some time later that he re-emerged, sporting cleaner and more suited attire. Steam escaped from the enclosed room, vanishing into the air upon entering the bedroom. Robert let the towel hang lazily atop his head, a half-hearted attempt at drying his hair. Inspecting the room more closely, he noticed that the sheets had been changed and the bed made. The curtains had also been drawn, allowing the stark white light to pour in.

The noble wasn't sure what surprised him more; the fact that this poor excuse for a hotel could employ maids, or that the weather was still a drab, bland canvas.

The latter had been a poor attempt at sarcasm, something he had picked up rather quickly whilst in the presence of a certain, silver-haired Russian. Robert smiled ruthlessly to himself. He hated that he had not gone a single waking moment without sparing Bryan a thought, whether it was in bitter taste or not.

He put it down to simple companionship, and even that was stretching it. For Robert, it wasn't everyday he spoke with someone who challenged him verbally, or used a condescending tone with him. Johnny didn't count. He spoke like he was king of the hill more often than not, and was _more often than_ _not_ ignored. He was non-threatening, a minor nuisance at best.

Used to all the 'milords' and 'my liege' the chamberlains and attendants always greeted him with, it was almost like a slap in the face to be treated with misconduct. Bryan had mocked him at every given opportunity, making fun of his status rather than acknowledging it. He had treated him like a low-life scoundrel, a commoner.

He had treated him like a _person_.

Holding the clothes that his captor may or may not have changed him into, he walked over to stand by the beside. He set the articles of clothing aside and, after a moment of nothing but blank thoughts, seated himself on the edge of the bed. Resting his elbow on his knee, his head falling into his palm, he stared lazily across the room.

The problem was still present, teetering on the brink of existence.

Even with a clear head, he was still nowhere near to finding a solution, or an artful way of slipping around it. Determination soon turned to exasperation, as it always did. His thoughts soon became another tangled mess, a head-ache surfacing among the chaos. Sighing dismally, he leaned back onto the freshly made bed, crimson eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Nothing. There was just… nothing. He was beginning to think that there really was no way around this, that all attempts at trying to re-write the pathetic fairy tale his life was turning into was pointless.

Darkness had slowly crept into the room, washing the walls with mischievous shadows. When Robert finally tore his eyes away from the roof, he was shocked at how much time had passed. According to the clock, it was just after six.

Shaking his head clear, Robert turned to the unshielded windows. Dark clouds were beginning to roll in off the horizon. Whether they would bring another torrential storm with them remained to be seen. Biting down on the inside of his lip, he shifted his attention back to the articles of clothing lying dejectedly on the bed.

_Well,_ he began, trying to reason with himself. _The cool, crisp air and exercise would certainly be beneficial._

Without a chance to reconsider, he retrieved the clothing and made for the door, pulling on his boots before slipping out. The desk clerk barely looked up from his newspaper as his guest exited the building through the large doors.

The air outside was, more or less, bitingly cold. Robert mentally hit himself for not grabbing a coat on the way out, but decided not to worry about it. If he turned around now, he would more than likely find cause to abandon this expedition. And, now that he had set out, he was determined to see this through to the bitter end.

The streets of the rural town had a particular eerieness about them. They were abandoned, empty, and deathly quiet. Even the air seemed to be holding its breath. The streetlights were only just beginning to flicker on, doing little in the way of providing a safe atmosphere. The town was just as lacking in lifeforms during the night as it was the day, something that did little dissuade the uneasiness that crept up on him.

For most of the journey, the only company Robert had was his own footsteps and shadow trailing behind, mingling with those on the sidewalk. As he was walking past a darkened alley wedged between two apartment buildings, the rattling of a trash can captured his attention. He paused mid-step, not exactly knowing what to expect.

Two beady eyes had peered back at him from the narrow passage, a glint of mischief lurking in them. Upon closer inspection (and after allowing his eyes to adjust) Robert noticed the floppy ears, the jutted chin and the small horn-like protrusions on its head… as if in confirmation, the creature-like thing let out a hoarse laugh. A _laugh._

He stood there for all of about ten seconds before resuming pace. It was probably safer not to ask. Although he couldn't help but feel he really needed to get of this town. And fast.

The buildings that loomed on either side of the complex where Bryan had currently taken up residence towered like giants, casting darker shadows along the walls. Robert felt slightly uneased as he walked towards the front door, clothes hanging loosely in his arms.

It really shouldn't have, but the door had decided to swing open at that moment.

Robert ceased walking as mister smug extraordinaire emerged in the doorway. The front light flicked on, flooding a small portion of the area with a golden hue. In all fairness, Bryan had looked considerably surprised to see him. That look of surprise was soon placed with a deep scowl, however.

"_Hey," _he growled, voice colder than ice. "Get off my property or I_ will_ shoot you."

Robert should have expected the less than pleasant welcome. As a matter of fact, he did. An amused smile tweaked the corners of his mouth, something he was sure the other had noticed. Walking up to the front doorstep, he pushed the articles of clothing into Bryan's arms.

"Technically it's not your property if you don't pay for it," Robert replied, voice level. Upon turning around to leave, he mumbled an added, "… goodbye."

Nothing had been accomplished by returning here. Robert wasn't even sure why he returned, but now that it was effectively over with, there was nothing left to do but return to the hotel and mope around some more. He had taken three steps before Bryan had called out.

"Not a good idea to turn your back on me, you know," he said, a slight trace of annoyance present in his voice. "I didn't say I was finished with you."

Despite his better judgement, Robert had craned his neck around to stare at him. "Oh? And… what did you have in mind?"

The mischievous grin that spread across his face should have been enough to set alarm bells off. "You're coming with me."

He should have known better than to reply. Really, he should have. "And where are we going?"

With the ever-present grin, Bryan had pushed his hands into his grey-ish coat pockets and walked the short journey to Robert's side, leaving the front door wide open. "The wharf," was all Bryan had said, giving him a none-too-gentle push.

Crimson eyes narrowing, he took that as a signal to _get moving_. Without waiting for a second reminder, he pushed off, the silver-haired blader in tow. It should have been the other way around as Robert didn't have the slightest idea where the wharf was. He had not even been aware that a wharf existed in this desolate town.

"Don't stay out late, you two!" A voice had called out in a mocking sing-song manner. Turning his head again, Robert caught sight of reddish-coloured tendrils disappearing into the dismal home, the door snapping shut soon after. He frowned slighty.

"Was that…?"

A swift smack to the back of the head silenced him.

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and keep walking. Eyes forward."

Glaring and not entirely sure he deserved that, Robert complied. The pair walked around aimlessly for awhile until Bryan deemed it time to take over the role of tracking dog, leading them towards this elusive 'wharf'. The silence that accompanied them was, quite simply, disheartening.

Robert relied on the sound of his captor's footsteps to lead him in the right direction, his focus and thoughts elsewhere at the time. What was he doing? Traipsing around after dark to lord-only-knows-where, when he should be back at the hotel doing… well, something other than what he currently was. And why did he, rather silently, agree to accompany the Russian anyway?

Ever since arriving in the forsaken town, his better judgement had gone straight down the drain.

"And here we are!"

Bryan's loud declaration snapped Robert back to reality. He had expected to see boats of large and small stature docked by the sea-side, rocking gently in the calm waves. He had expected the tangy taste of sea-salt to linger in the air. He had expected to feel the crisp, ocean breeze roll in from the sea.

Instead he was faced with the dark-paneled windows of… a pub?

"Please… tell me this is some kind of off-coloured joke…?"

The large wooden letters hanging above the bar's entrance and the look of supremacy on Bryan's face was enough of an answer. Instinctively, Robert's hand flew to his face, shielding his eyes in exasperation. He could feel the head-ache springing back to life every passing second.

"You don't expect me to actually go in there… do you?"

"Suit yourself," Bryan shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. "But if you don't get off the streets, and soon, rest assured the packrats will carry you off to their lair."

"You have such a colourful way of explaining things…" Robert grumbled, sighing depressingly. There really was no point arguing in the matter. Begrudgingly, Robert followed as Bryan pushed his way through the large wooden doors.

The atmosphere smelled distinctly of stale smoke. Whether it was an acquired scent or something the patrons brought with them was a mystery. For the most part, the customers were all jovial, boisterous, their laughter resonating throughout the room. It was a typical bar full of typical waitresses and typical drunks.

He had noticed the odd glare here and there that was being tossed their way, a wave of intimidation creeping up on him. The glint in their eyes weren't full of distaste, they were more… sinister. Robert tried his best to ignore them, opting to keeping his eyes forward.

Kuznetsov, however, had walked in practically gloating. Probably at all the unwanted attention they were receiving, Robert guessed. He had pulled up a stool at the bar, ushering for his accomplice to take the seat beside him.

"All right," Bryan began, turning his sharp-eyed stare on the bartender. "The usual."

"Sorry, Bryan," the bartender murmured, replacing a bottle of oddly coloured liquor back on the shelf. "We don't serve alcohol to minors. Show some identification."

This caused the silver-haired blader to abruptly burst into laughter, his head falling against the polished timber of the bar. Robert could only stare in a confused manner, unsure on what it was exactly that was so funny. From what he could tell, there was nothing comical about the situation.

"Ever the comedian, eh, Miles?" Bryan snickered, finally gathering his laughter under control. "That small, insignificant detail has never bothered you before. And since when have you ever declined a paying customer?"

"Oh, so you're actually _paying_ this time?"

Robert watched the exchange with diminishing interest. It sounded like a conversation Bryan and Miles the bartender had had more than once. He instead shifted his attention to the variety of occupants that had gathered at The Wharf tonight.

"Special consequence…" he heard Bryan mutter. The clean-shaven bartender offered a reply, something Robert didn't quite catch. He was busy eyeing a particular pair of grunts in one of the corners of the bar, who would look in their direction every few seconds. The look on their faces wasn't one of… fondness.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Miles had asked, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

"My good pal here," Bryan began to elaborate, clamping a hand swiftly onto Robert's shoulder. The gesture was so sudden that Robert nearly fell off the bar stool. Annoyed, he turned his questioning glare on the pair. "It's his last shred of freedom. Surely you won't turn the poor fool away?"

_Last shred of freedom?_ Wait… _what?_

The scowl on his face hardened. Bryan made a point of looking forward, innocently ignoring everything else around him. Somewhere among the glare and the increasing urge to throttle the Russian, he found a sense of reasoning. If the need to strangle something was still there, he would wait until after they left.

That was the logical thing to do.

For now, he would settle for burning holes in the polished surface of the bar. Still, he could not believe Bryan knew. He _knew_. The mere thought was almost insufferable.

"You never did strike me as one to run away."

Robert lifted his head, not entirely sure he heard right. Bryan had this arms folded across the bar in front of him, a thoughtful expression on his face. As two small glasses of bitter smelling liquid was placed in front of them (Miles must have caved), the noble soon found himself on the receiving end of Bryan's sharp-eyed stare.

"I never thought of myself as one _to_ run away," Robert ventured carefully. Was this some form of trap? It had to be. "But surprises will be had."

"Mmm," the Russian murmured, raising the glass to his lips. "Our noble, gallant lord is really a spineless, common coward. Now there's a twist in the tale."

"Don't sit there and assume things," he couldn't keep the growl out of his voice, try as he might. Yet the other had no right to sit there and dictate things he knew nothing about.

"Assume _what?_ That you're a selfish, good-for-nothing who's too afraid to live up to expectation, too afraid that no-one will catch him when he falls off his horse?"

_Ouch. _Hit the nail right on the head. Robert felt his anger diminish slightly.

"You know… You have more chance of coming out of a battle unscathed if you walk into the fray blindly, than if you stay behind frontlines trying to anticipate your enemies movements."

The way Bryan had said it, it almost sounded philosophical.

Yet it made absolutely no sense.

It certainly gave Robert something to think about, though.

He had descended into silence after Bryan had dropped that questionable pearl of wisdom, his mind traveling elsewhere. The Russian, too, seemed more pre-occupied with the contents of his glass.

The night dragged on as predicted. It got noisy, a few people grew aggravated and started to throw choice words across the room. The air was choked with a thin haze of smoke as it traveled to each corner of the room, letting no-one escape the hazardous smog. There was also a bitter smell lingering in the air.

When Bryan had accidentally slipped from his stool and landed gracelessly on the floor, that was about the time Miles decided it was time for them to leave. The bartender asked Robert politely if he could escort him home to make sure he didn't find trouble on the way, to which Robert agreed. He would take any excuse to leave dinghy abode.

Slipping the slightly inebriated Russian's arm around his neck for support, he spared a final glance towards his untouched glass of liquor, noticing as there were two empty glasses beside it.

_Two. _Kuznetsov certainly was an… _interesting_ drunk.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad!" He was exclaiming as they exited The Wharf. "Think about it, think about it… you could be _king."_

Something about the idea delighted the drunken blader as he tightened his grip around Robert's neck, poking him in the shoulder with his free hand.

"You could rule the_ world_."

Robert grimaced. Bryan certainly didn't smell drunk, but he acted and sounded it. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the pub messing with his head? Either way, the Russian was more boisterous than was considered safe.

"What d'you say, huh? Let's team up and rule the world," a cheerful grin passed his face. "You already have three little subordinates. We can get Tala to do our taxes. Ruling the world is probably expensive… 'course, he's hopeless with numbers, but that's okay…"

Much to his relief, Robert felt the arm of steel around his neck loosen.

"And we'll have to invite Ian along too, because he can be such a bossy little thing…"

The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance broke the still, night air. The dark clouds had rolled in, covering the night sky and looking positively sinister. It looked like it was going to rain again, the air still noticeably cold.

"What makes you think I want to rule the world?" Robert sighed, keeping his eyes ahead. At least one of them had to look where they were going to save walking into a wall. They must have already looked ridiculous enough.

"Because…" the silver-haired blader had begun.

Without even realizing it, Robert found himself suddenly pressed against the nearby wall, his wrists clamped between two strong hands. The noble was too stunned to move, to react. Bryan had leaned in close, much too close, a sly smile tweaking the corners of his mouth.

The glint in his eyes was intense, unwavering… _paralyzing_. Robert found himself helpless under the hawk-like eyes.

As if he wasn't already close enough, the Russian had moved inches forward. Robert could feel his breath on his lips, taste the bitter tang of alcohol. Bryan was obviously gaining some sort of sick pleasure as the nobleman froze under his hold. _Smug, arrogant, so self-assured..._

His mouth curling into a sly grin, Bryan breathed, lightly,

"_You might just enjoy it."_

And he released his grip.

Pulling back a few feet, Bryan let out a mirthful laugh, digging his hands into his coat pockets. He spared the noble a fleeting glance before deciding to venture off on his own, clearly pleased with himself. There was an air about him, as if he had just... won.

Robert's legs betrayed him, turning to butter as he sank involuntarily against the wall. His mind became a frazzled mess, an unknown sensation leaving him nauseous. All he could see was the intense, piercing eyes, sharper than daggers. All he could smell was the aweful sting of alcohol as it burned his senses. All he could _feel_ was the warm, breathy whisper against his mouth...

And suddenly, it wasn't so cold anymore.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Uh oh, it's almost two in the morning again. That can't be safe for anyone. D: anyway, I want to apologize for the use of annoying, generic characters. But for story structure, it has to be done. Forgive me...? Please. ; w; here's chapter nine, fresh out of the oven. Just for you, the reader. (;**

* * *

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

As Bryan walked away from the scene of the crime, he couldn't stop the wave of guilt that washed over him. Guilt was a new concept for him; he didn't much feel bad for anything these days, let alone actions he himself committed. It was an ugly feeling, something he didn't like. He wanted it gone. Now.

_Stop. Turn around. Go back. Apologize. Do _some_thing, damn it, don't just walk away!_

His body had switched to auto-pilot. There was no turning back now.

_Ugh… I'm just as bad as he is. Running away like a kicked puppy. Feh._

There was only silence, save for his own footsteps as he traversed the confusing channels of streets and back alleys the town was made up of. He was alone. Alone with his own thoughts that flooded and attacked his conscience. So many questions and so little answers.

What was he thinking? Why had he done… _that?_

Bryan could hardly blame it on the liquor. As far as he was concerned, he was completely sober. That was why he was having such crystal-clear, cringe-worthy thoughts, right? If he was drunk, the alcohol would have blocked everything out. It was with those thoughts in mind that he dearly wished he had knocked back a few more shots.

Maybe he would have passed out instead of… of… _ugh._

Sighing heavily, he pulled his coat tighter around him. The air was brisk, cool, that evening. An eerie wind escaped down the narrow passage, rattling stray cans and rustling tossed papers. The amount of rubbish in the alley was staggering, almost like a labyrinth. It was also… unfamiliar.

Thunder crackled overhead. Bryan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

A storm was brewing, something he would have been delighted for were it not the foreboding feeling that accompanied it. Somehow, someway, he felt that this particular storm was a bad omen of sorts, a sign of impending doom. Was he losing it, crazy for thinking such a thing?

… Probably.

Shifting the position of his shoulders, the Russian pressed on, determined to ignore each and every thought from then on. While he wasn't exactly inebriated, the little alcohol he did drink had been enough for a headache to spring up.

The streets became more and more complex as he went. A frown began to crease his eyebrows as he realized he was entering the downtown area, the more seedier parts of town. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. But that was impossible. He knew these streets like the back of his hand.

Emerging onto one of the main streets, he peered up and down the deserted road for a road sign. After finally locating it, his worst fears were confirmed. Feeling slightly unnerved, he looked over his shoulder before crossing the street. He ducked into another back alley, effectively hidden by the shadows.

This was a notorious part of town, and only stupid people would be caught wandering around after dark.

Bryan liked to think he wasn't on that list of people, but he certainly was on _a_ list.

It might have had something to do with a warehouse fire, and yeah, it _might_ have also had something to do with car theft, but he wasn't exactly welcome around these parts. Far be it from being afraid of anything, Bryan had decided he liked his face how it was; intact and still attached.

The Russian cringed inwardly as his foot struck a conveniently placed can, the noise echoing throughout the narrow alleyway. He cursed himself for not being more careful, picking up his pace a considerable amount. Light from the street beyond flooded the passage, signaling the exit of the shady alley.

Lightning pierced the sky, thunder rumbled again. That same sense of foreboding returned.

As if on cue, a dark shape barred the exit of the alley. Bryan's steps slowed until he finally stopped, standing with his hands clenching the inside of his coat pockets. His sharp eyes narrowed as the figure, a man, stood stone-still, almost like a gargoyle.

"So how's this gonna go down?" Bryan said after a time, loud enough for his voice to reach the tall figure. The other man did nothing, said nothing, merely stared back with slanted eyes that flickered with unknown intentions. "You going to hold me back while one of your goons softens me up?"

He was a thug. Thugs didn't mince words, they spoke with their fists. Or pointy, metal blades, whichever was available at the time.

The faintest hint of a smile appeared on the other man's lips. His form was shrouded by a thick over-coat, much too large for his build. The slight wind teased the ends of his coat tails, giving him an almost ominous appearance. He offered no response, remaining silent.

Bryan felt his patience wearing thin. This man obviously wanted something from him, and the western-style stand-off was growing old.

A flash of lightning lit up the alley, allowing for Bryan to see the man's ghoul-ish features more clearly. He shuddered inwardly, wishing he could mentally erase the picture from his mind. Droplets of rain began to fall from the darkened sky, making _plinking_ noises on the garbage cans.

Another flash of lightning and the ghoul turned on his heel, heavy boots leading away from the alley. Confused, Bryan felt himself relax a little. However, that had almost seemed too easy. Was this a trap? Were they luring him into a false sense of security? Did they have something else—

_Crack._

Bryan felt his breath hitch as something hard, something _sharp_, struck him against the back of his head. There was barely any time for shock to register on his face as he crumpled to his knees, lights exploding in his head shortly thereafter. The back of his head throbbed painfully, a hot, sticky substance matting his hair, rolling down his neck.

_Blood…?_

A shadowed body shuffled past him, heading in the direction the shady man had retreated in.

Unable to see past the dazzling arrays of light, all his senses distorted, the last thing Bryan remembered was crashing against the ground, a pathetic heap on the alley floor as rain washed against his pallid skin.

"… _ryan!"_

There was an aweful ringing noise. An aweful ringing,_ nagging_ noise. Why wouldn't it go away? Why wouldn't it shut up?

"Bryan! For God's sake, _wake up_."

Groaning pitifully, Bryan attempted to open his eyes. Blindsighted by the sharp, searing pain that shot through the back of his head, he instinctively closed them again. He reached a shaky hand up to inspect the damage, his fingers becoming tangled in the bloody mess of hair.

"… ow," he breathed. The gesture itself was enough to cause him to groan again, his arm falling limply at his side. He tried once again to open his eyes, at half-mast this time, catching sight of blood-red eyes staring at him critically.

Despite everything, Bryan smiled. An ironic kind of smile. Propped up against the wall, he laughed, regretting it an instant later.

"My knight come to rescue me, huh? Funny…" Bryan rasped, sleepily. "I expected someone… well, someone better suited for the job."

Robert just sighed, unamused, but deciding to let it go. He was crouched beside the fallen blader, holding him by the shoulders so that he didn't collapse against the ground again. The Russian appeared pale, moreso than usual, on the verge of passing out.

"If you have the energy to crack jokes…" Robert began, trying to keep the Russian steady. "Then you have the energy to help me get you to a clinic."

Bryan almost wanted to laugh again, but dismissed the idea. The whole scenario was ironic, as if the two had done a role-reversal. Only this time, one of them really was injured and one of them really was worried for that person's well-being.

He felt pathetic. But at the same time, he was almost… happy.

Even after all the names, the mockery he made of him, the shameless display earlier that night, the German nobleman had cared enough to not abandon him to whatever fate may befall him. That's why he was here, right? Because he cared?

There were a million and one things buzzing around in his head at the moment. The sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head, the dizzying, nauseous feeling welling in the pit of his stomach, the blinding white lights that obscured parts of his vision…

Amongst everything he could and should be thinking of, all Bryan wanted to do was apologize.

His arms snapped up, hands catching the noble around the face. The sudden gesture must have startled Robert as the grip on his shoulders tightened slightly. Accidentally smearing blood across the German's face, the silver-haired blader was about to open his mouth when something else hit him.

Tilting his head back, he peered up at the darkened sky as cold droplets of water washed over his face.

_Oh. It's raining._

As if in confirmation, thunder rumbled ominously. Bryan shifted his attention back to Robert, who was peering at him questioningly. He stared into the endless sea of red, taking a moment to gather his words.

But he was so dizzy and sleepy and sick and oh he just wanted to throw up…

"I… I…" Lost, Bryan fell back against the wall, letting the drizzle of rain wash over him. Releasing his grip on the confused nobleman, he said, finally, "… I didn't bring an umbrella."


End file.
